


Distant Dependencies

by rainedparade



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Psychological Warfare, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 07:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainedparade/pseuds/rainedparade
Summary: Takes place before Book 17:The Underground.  Visser Three is in communication with a traitor from the Andalite homeworld.  But why does he not lead the Leeran invasion himself? And what does Alloran think of all this?





	Distant Dependencies

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the fight Chapman had put up in his daughter's defence, I imagine a battle-scarred (and embittered) Prince like Alloran would be able to wage an even more exhausting war.

‹What a sickening excuse for a ranked officer,› Alloran sneers, once the connection with the captain of the Ascalin had been terminated. ‹The preferences of The People continue to confound me.›

‹You of all people should be able to sympathize with his motives,› Esplin answers, more irritated with Alloran's judgement than he ought to be. He flicks their tail, busying himself with the most recent planet-side reports, and thinks that will be the end of it.

Alloran doesn't deign to respond, but Esplin sees -- or rather, senses -- his memories flickering to scenes from the Andalite homeworld. Of his mate and son and daughter.

The fact of the matter is, Alloran's psyche is steel tempered by white-hot flame. Even before their partnership -- (‹Infestation,› Alloran corrects. Esplin ignores this too.) -- he had dealt with decades of mockery and scorn from the people he had sworn to serve. And still, he never shirked from his duties, as warrior, as spouse, as parent, and even as a civilian member of the council. Those decades of iron-clad self-control have left their mark. Alloran can be _possessed_ but even after their time spent together, Esplin cannot bring him entirely to heel. When he oversteps his boundaries -- laughable though the idea may be -- Alloran can rally, through unreasonable willpower along, until Esplin is the one left raving.

‹It is fortunate,› Esplin murmurs, when Alloran is dredging up that first incident when he was made to experience the most wretched headaches imaginable, the sort that had him grinding teeth he didn't possess and making mincemeat of three guards in an hour, ‹That the rest of your kind are not as prepared for this sort of warfare. When your homeworld falls, I might even switch bodies.›

It is a point he's brought up before but Alloran knows him too well and does not rise to the bait. Without even accounting for their working relationship (if it could be called that; ‹It can't,› Alloran supplies), there was the matter of morphs. Esplin had strong-armed the then Visser Two into brokering a deal with the Skrit Na for the better half of his menagerie. If he were to switch hosts, it would come at the cost of choice morphs -- the Vanarx among them.

‹How little regard you hold for your own species,› Alloran retorts, a frequent jibe of his. ‹Has it not occurred to you that your own mental defences are to blame?›

‹Be silent,› Esplin snaps, ‹Lest you want to be fed your dear wife upon reunion.›

Alloran does not say more but Esplin can see his train of thought, clear as the Leeran sea. As usual, Esplin is one riled up, rifling through Alloran's memories despite swearing off to that particular habit. Even worse, he can feel Alloran's gaze. Judging. Sneering. And still, he cannot stop.

The memories he's looking for are buried quite deep, which tells him it was not a pleasant encounter for Alloran either. This is not the relief it should be as, upon accessing said memories, Esplin is flooded once more with rage. ‹How dare they,› he thinks, watching through Alloran's eyes are someone else -- some horrid little slug with no conception of its place in the universe -- slips in through Alloran's ear canal. ‹How dare they, how dare they, how dare they.› Urgin Seven-Nine-One-One's wonderment and delight at the accident (accident!) was enough to catch Alloran off-guard. It was the explanation Alloran had given for his lackluster response. Urgin had gotten out of the pool, prancing and strutting as if he had any right, before Esplin had called for the guards.

‹How dare they,› Esplin mutters again, and his voice is as dark as the space between the stars. He disengages himself and retreats to the forefront of Alloran's mind.

Busying himself with the reports is sufficiently soothing, especially as Alloran leaves him to his thoughts. Seeing the membership numbers of the Sharing grow with their newest outreach program is enough to center him, so much so that Esplin extends an olive branch as soon as he's done.

‹That upstart captain is not so much of a traitor.›

‹Much as your homeworld is not so much of a wasteland?›

This is how it always is: Esplin will try to be reasonable, will try to get Alloran to see that their working relationship is not _so_ bad only for Alloran to fight him at every opportunity.

‹He has a family,› Esplin grates ‹Can you not concede how they might have higher priority than the People?›

‹To even ask is absurdity,› Alloran scoffs, ‹For what are they, if they are not part of the People? Samilin-Corrath-Gahar is a fool of the highest order, I am not surprised he would see distinctions where there are none.›

‹You are too quick to judge,› Esplin argues, ‹If it were Jahar, if it were Asculan -- ›

‹I would have you feed them to the Taxxons,› Alloran answers. There a sharp certainty in his tone and though he doesn't voice the threat, Esplin still sees it carved into his thoughts: the headache from their first proper confrontation is but the tip of the iceberg. It is not so much the certainty in Alloran's thoughts as it is the implication that really rankles Esplin.

‹Is there a single whim of yours I have yet to indulge you in?› he demands, bitterness veering into despair.

Inside his (their) head, Alloran laughs. It is the same humorless sound he made before the council meetings. Indeed, it was his first reaction when Esplin forced himself in.

‹Come now, Yeerk,› Alloran chides, ‹You're smarter than that.›

Esplin smashes a fist through the screen and needs to take a series of breaths. He's still not calm by the end of it.

‹Bring the Bug Fighter around,› he orders. ‹Set the coordinates for the main pool.› As usual, he can't take it out on Alloran -- not without Alloran paying it back with interest -- but that's not to mean he's entirely without reprieve. There's a processed-supplement epidemic going on among the planet-side Yeerks and though Esplin has little interest in the debacle, it just means there will be more nourishment than usual for the Vanarx.

As he's stepping on to the Bug Fighter, Alloran dredges up the memory in question. It was the first time Esplin had been beaten in his own domain and he's tucked his version of the events in a similarly sheltered space.

‹Swear on it,› Alloran had demanded then, with his tail blade pressed to his own neck.

‹I will swear nothing you tree-loving primordial beast!› Esplin screamed back, more unhinged than he thought possible with the intensity of the headache. It had been the worst, the absolute worst. The only thing comparable was when he was hours away from dying of Kandrona starvation and that was years ago.

For hours, they waged a silent war. How Alloran managed to keep his tail in such a position while forcing both of them through nothing short of an aneurysm, Esplin still cannot fathom.

And then -- at last:

‹Fine,› Esplin snapped.

It took Alloran a moment to react.

‹What?›

‹Fine. I agree to your terms, butcher. For the length of our partnership, I will not step foot on your precious homeworld. Satisfied?›

The War-Prince did not trust him. And so Alloran remained frozen for a while and Esplin is made to writhe again, feeling him sift through his thoughts. When Alloran was looking through Esplin's previous hosts (lingering unnecessarily on Seerow's daughter), something like understanding dawns. Only then does Alloran retreat, allowing (Esplin seethes at the memory) Esplin full control of their (his) body.

When he's watched his fill, he lowers his tail and stomps one foot, turning moodily in place. The Bug Fighter feels especially stifling in this context.

‹Someday,› he promises, ‹You will beg me to break my oath.›

Alloran says nothing, but he laughs that same dark laugh.


End file.
